An Old Friend
by rikkijackson
Summary: To defeat the Doctor one must know him. His weaknesses. His fears. Granted, this would take centuries to figure out. Although, there is one man. One relentless man who has been patiently waiting.


"So, where to today?" Amy asks.

Pushing multiple buttons and switches, the Doctor dances around the console of the TARDIS. "How about the Lincoln Memorial? Granted, it's not as exciting as actually meeting President Lincoln himself, but-"

The TARDIS jolts to the right, causing them to stumble.

The Doctor sees Rory sprawled over the console. "Oi! Rory, hands off the console! How many times have I told you she doesn't like being tampered with?" he scolds. He rushes over and tries to calm his spaceship down with various comforting words.

Rory's brow furrows. "It wasn't me."

Amy adjusts her skirt and jacket. "The Lincoln Memorial?" she asks like nothing interrupted them. "That's a bit odd for you. What's the occasion?"

"Nothing wrong with revering America's 16th president, right?" The Doctor grins.

She's not one to argue, so she shrugs and that's the end of it. "Whatever. Rory and I have to get a few things first, though. We'll be right back." She interlocks fingers with him and they're off. Knowing them, the Doctor suspects they're doing more than "getting a few things".

The Doctor continues tinkering about with his console, anyway. It's one of his favorite activities. Sometimes the peacefulness of everything is nice. Just him and his girl.

But this time, it wasn't just him and his girl. But they're not alone, he realizes. There's someone, a presence, in the TARDIS. He had a feeling in his gut it wasn't Amy or Rory, let alone, anyone who was invited aboard.

When he turns, he sees the last person he'd expect.

A man, settled all the way on the other side of the TARDIS. He looks exactly the same as he did when the Doctor saw him three centuries ago. Same white hair. Same stubble. Though, the man does not seem startled by the Doctor's change of face. He leans against the wall with comfortable ease, his gaze raking over the Doctor. Even in the safety of his own TARDIS he feels like prey.

The Doctor fixes his bow tie subconsciously. "Aren't you going to say hello?"

The man smiles. He smiles so genuinely, as if he'd never cause harm. "Hello?" he echoes. "Surely our relationship is past hello." He walks up to the Doctor. "How about a hug?"

He grabs hold of the Doctor with his boney fingers and pulls him into a tight squeeze. Not a warm, pleasant kind of hug, but a cold, incongruous one. This was the kind of hold you'd have on someone you want to choke.

"They're still alive, you know," he whispers chillingly into the Doctor's ear. "The other Time Lords. We haven't forgotten what you've done."

The Doctor's mouth curved into a grotesque smile. "Don't worry, I've been plenty busy with other things to be worrying about that."

The frosty haired man releases from the embrace. "You're not penitent? These are your people, practically your family. You may have these whimsical humans to keep you company but you and I both know it can't last forever." The smugness in his voice makes the Doctor's blood boil, but he has learned from past experience that this man is truculent, and refuses to let his feelings show.

"You think I don't know what it's like for those two hearts to continue beating in the silence?" The man carefully traces a finger down the Doctor's sternum. "Your playhouse is filled with laughter and adventure, isn't it? But we both know nothing lasts forever. This haven will soon be a miserable dwelling and your only friend will be the dead air."

With every word, the Doctor's hearts contract. He averts his gaze away.

The man notices this with delight. "Now, now, Doctor. I'd prefer you look me in the eye _while I kill you_."

He takes a swing at the Doctor's chin. The Doctor falls back, caught off guard by the violent attack. Before he can recover, the man is on him. He produces a sharp object that gleams in the artificial light of the TARDIS.

The knife is on him. Slashing the Doctor's chest, face, anywhere this man can penetrate skin. Long, nasty gashes appear, pooling out red liquid until it's stained his clothing.

"Soon you'll realize who your master is." His sadistic grin reaches both sides of his face.

This isn't the man the Doctor knows. Knew. He may have been insane before, from the drumming that wouldn't stop in his head, but he was never closed off. There was always some way to get through to him. But _this_ man—this monster—is so far out of touch with humanity it's sickening. A warm liquid runs down the Doctor's cheek. It's not blood this time, it's tears.

"Please," the Doctor whispers.

"Please, _what_?" he snaps.

"Master."

The Master chuckles darkly. "Tell me how this feels, Doctor." He lifts the knife high. then plunges the blade into the Doctor's chest. His back arches and he gasps, like his soul is being ripped out of his body. He falls back limp. Lifeless.

The corners of his eyes get fuzzy. This is it. The long awaited inevitable. He knows he could regenerate, but with the Master standing over him with this crazed look of satisfaction in his eyes, the Doctor realizes that maybe twelve hundred years of time and space is enough.

He closes his eyes.

A warm light behind his closed lids brings him out of the darkness. A pressure against his cheek stirs him awake. Above him, the Master's hand is glowing a familiar orange-like color. The wounds on his chest and face begin to vanish.

"Wh-why?" The Doctor places his hand on top of the Master's. "I don't understand."

The Master's attention remains steady as he continues to heal the Doctor with his regeneration energy. "How did it feel?"

"What?"

"How did it feel to have my knife sink into your flesh? To have death looming over you? To be defeated? I took the life right out of you. Don't think I won't do it again. Remember who your master is, Doctor."

Once the wounds are completely healed, the Master removes his hand. He gets up and slowly walks away, eyes still fixed on the Doctor. "Quod incepimus conficiemus."

_What we have begun we shall finish._

Then, in the blink of an eye, he's gone. All trace of him is gone. Even the blood stains on the Doctor's button up shirt are gone. He rises and collects himself just in time for Amy and Rory to return.

"Okay, we're ready. Let's head out," Amy says.

With a small nod, the Doctor steps over to the console and busies himself with typing in the coordinates to their location. His whole body is stiff, yet tingly. His death and resurrection is affecting him so much the Master might as well have left the knife in his chest for them to see.

"Hey, where's that smile of yours?" Amy asks playfully.

The twitch of the Doctor's lips is fleeting.

Her gaze is still locked on him, burning holes into his tweed jacket. He feels her move closer and closer until she's standing next to him.

"You know, it's not good to lie to your family."

The Doctor finally glances up to see Amy with her arms crossed and that typical look of determination on her face. He gingerly cups her cheek and tenses when he remembers the Master performing the same gesture. "Oh, Amelia Pond, how you still care for me, a man with many years behind a young face, even after I've put you in danger time and time again is humbling. I promise you, I am okay."

Amy's eyes are glistening by the end of his speech, but she smiles.


End file.
